Semua Bab Dear Ex Husband, You Lose!: Bab 61 - Bab 70

Thomas sat in silence, the ticking of the wall clock filling the room like a countdown. Frank’s words still echoed in his head — trust no one. He wasn’t sure if that included Frank himself. He rubbed his temples, his thoughts spiraling, trying to find a thread of logic amid the madness. “Giancarlo family,” he muttered under his breath, as if saying it aloud might make it less monstrous. But it didn’t. It only made the whole thing feel more real. Frank was watching him — not speaking, just watching — and it made Thomas’s skin prickle. There was something unnerving about the man’s stillness, the precision of it. Frank didn’t fidget, didn’t breathe too loudly, didn’t move unless he had a reason. Thomas looked up at him. “You said Delia’s accounted for,” he began cautiously. “That she’s safe for now. I need more than that. If she’s caught up in this because of me, I need to know where she is. Who’s with her?” Frank’s expression didn’t change. “That information isn’t re

Delia’s legs shook, and tears spilled unbidden down her cheeks. “What the fuck is going on, Frank?!” she yelled, her voice raw and trembling. “You just… you just leave me here like I’m some kind of child! And these people—they knew I was here! They—” Her words broke off into a sob, her hands gripping the window frame so tightly her nails dug into the wood. Frank’s eyes softened ever so slightly, but his jaw remained tense. “Delia, calm down. I—” “No!” she screamed, spinning on him, tears streaming freely now. “You can’t just say ‘calm down’! People broke into your apartment! They were looking for something and for you! And you—” She threw her hands up, wracked with a sob. “You just left me here, Frank. You—” Her voice cracked completely, and she sank to the floor on the balcony, clutching her belly protectively. “I could’ve… I could’ve been hurt. I could’ve—” Frank’s hands reached out, but she flinched away from him instinctively. “Delia, listen—” “I don’t care! I don’t ca

Delia’s hands trembled, her chest heaving as she stared at Frank. The shell casing on the floor, the blood smears—everything screamed danger. “Frank… what the hell is going on?” she demanded, her voice breaking, a mix of fear and fury. “Why is my life like this? Why me?!”He moved toward her with that calm, lethal precision that never failed to make her pulse spike. He reached out, resting a firm hand on her shoulder. “Delia,” he said, low and controlled, “you can’t stay here. It’s not safe anymore. Not for you, not for the baby.”She shook her head violently. “I’m not leaving! I’m staying! You said you’d protect me. That’s what you promised!”His jaw tightened, a shadow of frustration crossing his features. “I promised your parents I’d look after you. And I am. But staying here? That’s a death sentence. I’ve seen them move. The Giancarlo family doesn’t forgive, and they won’t stop until they get what they want. You’re too exposed here.”Tears streamed down her face, and her voice cra

Thomas. For a single suspended heartbeat the world narrowed to the space between the doorway and his face. He looked smaller, older — the kind of smaller that was made of bad decisions and sleepless nights. His mouth opened and closed like he was searching for the right apology, the right reason, the right anything. “Delia.” He took a step forward, and the sound of his name in his voice landed like an accusation and a plea at the same time. Relief and fury coiled in her chest and refused to be separated. She wanted to run to him and shake him until he remembered what he’d done. She wanted to throw herself against him and slap him. The two instincts warred into a knotted mess and left her standing rigid where she was. Frank moved between them before either of them could bridge the distance. He did not look surprised. He never did. His silhouette cut a line of certainty — the man who walked into gunfire and came back with plans. “Keep your voice down,” Frank said, and even h

Kylie had rehearsed the walk a dozen times in her head; the route from the back entrance of St. Mary’s to the anonymous café three streets over felt like a line she was walking between two worlds. One world was warm with the terrible loyalty she’d been raised in — the one where her sister’s whim was a law and silence a currency. The other was cold with truth and consequence, and it had begun to feel, to her own astonishment, like the only place she could stand. She had found the folder two nights ago, tucked under the false bottom of a desk drawer in Samantha’s apartment, a place she’d been told to clean and ignore the contents. Samantha had coached her to look like a dutiful sibling; she’d taught her tone, practiced the correct expressions when people asked if she was okay. But curiosity is a small, efficient thief. It had taken one quick look at the documents to see the architecture of something rotten: forged signatures, wire transfers routed through shell companies, receipts t